Days Of The Past
by BranCornick
Summary: Colbie Witchcell is faced with her haunting childhood as she unknowingly takes on a pro bono case that will reunite her with her long-lost best friend, Matthew Murdock. Their harrowing journey of rediscovering each other will be filled with secrets, lies, loss, and love as Colbie finds herself falling for the familiar figure that only reminds her of the days of the past.


**Chapter one; Record Track**

 _a/n: okay so i told myself i wasn't going to do this, but there are a criminally low amount of matt murdock/ daredevil fits out there so i just couldn't resist. comment, favorite, follow— i'd really love to hear some feedback on this._

 _Disclaimer; i own nothing related to the marvel franchise or daredevil. i do own my OC and her plot, though._

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Colbie glided across the glistening, tiled aisle way of the local courthouse. It was a small building as broken on the outside as the rest of this district of Manhattan around it, chipping at the seams— a once memorable place with pale plaster walls cracked up to ceiling and concrete stairs stained with the ashes from fires that had broken out around them. In striking contrast to the imperfect outside of the building that still occasionally crept into her childhood nightmares, the inside was kept with pride. The mosaic floor was polished often, shining under the bright florescent lights like one of the nicer, richer places upstate. Each door she passed on her steady, silent journey— except for the echo of her heels on the waxed tile floor— was unscratched by the horrors that no doubt passed through them in this tainted city, strong and sturdy to keep the murmuring voices behind them from seeping into the halls.

Colbie was staring at a small slip of paper between her fingers. It was the shredded corner of a thin, lined sheet of notebook paper with a bolded room number in pink sharpie messily scribbled on the front. She stared at it was barely concealed disdain, blaming it and the person who gave it to her for convincing her coming back to this city— and this ghastly courthouse filled with more losses than victories— and take the job that had randomly fallen into her lap.

Her footsteps slowed as she approached a dark door tucked into the corner of adjacent green walls. Unlike the others it was without a gold plaque that announced the prestigious judge inhabiting it. Instead, there was a small note taped on the front: room 13, occupied. Colbie thought it rather infuriating, this small pathetic note attempting to convey a more important message— much like the case she was now working pro bono on.

Her knuckles rapt once on the wood, firm and sure as she was confident she was in the right place. A quick, secondary glance at the slip of paper still in her grasp confirmed this. Any faint noise that had been going on had halted to a stop at her abrupt intrusion, leaving her in a desolate silence by herself in the hall. She shifted uncomfortably but waited patiently for the door to open.

Whatever— whoever— she had been expecting to answer the door, it surely wasn't the blackened face of a bruised teen boy. He was a waif under his overly large clothes, and he hid under them like someone who had been beaten down one too many times. It made her angry to see, but she swallowed it at the timid look on his swollen face. The tanned skin around his cheeks and eyes looked like a poorly rendered Van Gogh painting, yellow and blue and black and something that shouldn't be marring his innocent face.

"Hello," Colbie said as softly as she could manage. Her anger was trying to leak through with her words, the tension in her jaw almost locking it in place, but she didn't want to scare him away, "I'm looking for the woman who contacted me, Sofia Wright. Is she here?"

The young boy shifted on his feet, chocolate eyes gluing to his scuffled shoes guiltily, "Uh, yeah. Come— would you like to come in?"

Colbie brushed past his nervous correction silently, cataloging it along with the other obvious signs of repeated abuse he showed. She stepped inside the small room, crystalline eyes catching on the table at the center of the space. Two men were seated at it, stuck in a quiet conversation amongst themselves. Their backs were turned to her as they frantically whispered to one another, completing ignoring her prescience in the room. She turned to the anxious boy behind her.

He was standing awkwardly behind her, fiddling with the drawstring to his oversized sweatshirt as he attempted to look anywhere but at her. Colbie frowned thoughtfully.

"Where's Ms. Wright?" She asked lightly, trying to keep the suspicion from edging into her tone. The bruised boy flinched visibly at the name, shrinking away as if she had struck him. Colbie bit her lip to keep an apology from tumbling from her mouth. She had learned that commenting on the behavior would only make it worse.

"Uh, I— she's not, I'm sorry. I was just trying to— I'm sorry," tumbled from the boy's split lips in a panicked mess of incoherency.

Colbie raised her hands placatingly, softening her eyes and her voice, "Hey, hey, its alright. No one's in trouble here, okay? I'm just trying to find the person who contacted me so I can help them."

"I did," the boy revealed said breathlessly. His whispered confession finally pulled the two bickering men from their argument, halting their heated words and straightening their backs in alarm.

"What my client means," the long haired man interjected quickly, tucking loose strands of blonde behind his ears, "is that he sought a better social worker than the one appointed to him by the court, albeit without his lawyers' counsel."

Colbie sucked in a sharp breath. She gnawed on her lower lip as she thought back to the desperate email she received three days prior, supposedly from the despairing Sofia Wright, a widowed woman trying to free her wrongly arrested son, Daniel. The boy, if she had to take a guess, who stood beaten bloody in front of her with tears misting his worried eyes.

"I'm sorry," Daniel cried, gripping at his arms in a self-assuring hug. Colbie's heart wretched at the defeated look on his. He looked barely over fifteen, youthfulness still keeping his cheeks full despite the discolored bruises on them.

"No," She rushed to quiet his cries, "no, its not your fault, okay? Its alright. I'll help, I promise. I just need to understand whats going on right now."

Colbie refrained from touching him, instead keeping herself a comfortable distance away and gesturing for him to sit on a chair opposite his lawyer's. Daniel was reluctant to comply, but the exhaustion that was clearly weighing him down seemed to win over his need to pace. He scooted himself into the seat, slumping over tiredly almost as soon as he was situated. Colbie carefully copied his movements into the chair next to his.

She carefully examined the lawyers across from her. One was shorter, dressed with more color than his plainer friend. He had an optimistic air to his round face, like he was filled with sarcasm and sunshine. His hair was longer, blonder, a blue pen twirling between his fingers. The partner, on the hand, held a stark contrast.

The familiarity that struck her as she scrutinized his face left her a little breathless. He was tall and pale with dark, floppy hair messed at the top of his head. She noticed it curled at the ends, probably from the humidity raging outside. A five o'clock shadow peppered his cheeks and chin, but didn't add anything but rugged character to his naturally charming looks. Round, wine colored glasses were perched over his wide nose. Paired with the walking stick leant up against the table beside him, she surmised that he was blind. Compared to his shorter friend, this man looked sharper. Darker. It wasn't the obvious attractiveness of his face that sent her heart pattering though, rather it was the similarity he held to an old friend from long ago that she still often thought about. This man was stoic in his seat.

"What's the case, then? What crime did he supposedly commit that was so dastardly that the court is actually trying to convict a minor for?" Colbie asked with bewilderment. From the corner of her eye, she saw Daniel dejectedly look away.

The blonde lawyer shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing at his partner before addressing her, " _Supposedly_ , he shot a cop."

"What evidence do they have?"

"His word against our client's," he said plainly. Colbie's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"He's still alive?" She asked incredulously. It wasn't often in shooting cases, especially ones involving cops in this city, that the supposed victim survives the encounter.

"In the ICU, but yeah. He's conscious and claiming our client shot him in the chest with a .45." he filled in, shrugging regretfully as he quickly glanced at the beaten boy across from him, "There aren't any witnesses, so its all hearsay at this point."

"Damn," Colbie mumbled under her breath, looking over at Daniel. He nervously met her imploring eyes.

"Did you shoot him?" She asked honestly, watching closely for his reaction. His dark eyes widened considerably, but didn't sway or falter. He shook his head fervently. She couldn't spot any obvious signs of deception. Colbie sighed heavily to herself.

"So you'll take the case?" The silent partner finally spoke up. His voice was a deep baritone, hoarse and worn like he spent a lot of his time screaming.

She barely hesitated in responding, "Of course I will. Daniel needs help and I will be happy to give it to him. I'm sure it will be pleasant working with you, gentlemen."

"Please," the blonde man stood, smoothing his blue tie to his chest as he held his hand out, "Foggy Nelson. And this is my partner, Matt Murdock."

As a child Colbie could remember listening to those old vinyl records that lined that impossibly high shelf she could never reach on her own. Almost like the feature in an 80s classic film, when the music would play up until the climatic moment where everything fell apart and the record scratched to a stop, she could remember purposefully nudging the needle off the track to hear that iconic, abrupt end to the music. She remembered someone yelling at her for ruining those records.

It felt almost like that needle falling off the track. Colbie's breath lodged in her throat and everything seemed to freeze. She stared, wide-eyed at the man in front of her. He was all grown up now, no longer the fumbling kid gripping at her elbow and begging for her to lead him down the street. Matt Murdock was no longer the child she remembered. Instead, he straightened from his chair in front of her, unknowingly copying the actions of his new partner in crime by blindly smoothing his black tie down the front of his chest. He held out his hand expectantly, like he wasn't breaking the foundation she stood upon by simply existing again in front of her.

Finally, she found her voice, "Matty?"

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 _a/n; if anyone is interested, Colbie's "face claim" is Brittany Snow (i'm so gay for her). idk which hair color of her's to choose yet, so if theres suddenly an overwhelming surge of comments on it i'll let you guys decide. if not, then i'll have to get back to you on it. also, this bad boy is a whopping 1,763 words which doesn't seem like a lot but its almost four pages which is a lot for me on a first chapter._


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